


Geared Up

by Northern_Star



Category: Hockey RPS
Genre: Fetish, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-23
Updated: 2010-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Star/pseuds/Northern_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the <a href="http://panda-check.livejournal.com/193686.html?thread=1518742#t1518742">hockey kink meme</a>, prompt was: <i>Player A has a fetish for goalie gear and gets caught licking the sweat off some equipment by Player B (the goalie!) demanding anon is demanding if Player C (the back up goalie) shows up in a towel and joins the sexing!"</i>. Hopefully, I've not messed up too many references - I've done some research, but there are people mentioned here which I don't know much at all.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Geared Up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [hockey kink meme](http://panda-check.livejournal.com/193686.html?thread=1518742#t1518742), prompt was: _Player A has a fetish for goalie gear and gets caught licking the sweat off some equipment by Player B (the goalie!) demanding anon is demanding if Player C (the back up goalie) shows up in a towel and joins the sexing!"_. Hopefully, I've not messed up too many references - I've done some research, but there are people mentioned here which I don't know much at all.

The season was only a few weeks old, and already Mike Cammalleri was starting to itch... He didn't know these guys well enough to be completely comfortable here yet. On the ice, everything was good and fine, and they were all playing pretty damn good together. It was after the games that things were a little more complicated. After the games, in the locker room. Because even though Mike could always _watch_ the starting goaler remove his gear, piece by piece, finding a way to get his hands on any of it wasn't exactly a given. Especially with this team, and these goalers.

He'd been through this a year ago in Calgary where he'd had the toughest time convincing Kiprusoff to go along with this little goaler gear fetish of his; McElhinney wouldn't hear of any such thing ("Dude, that's sick!") not that he'd really ever expected him to, anyway.

It was all Jason and Mathieu's fault, back in Los Angeles, Mike knew. A lost bet one night and somehow he'd ended up with a real craving for the feel of the synthetic leather and nylon of their gloves on his skin. Soon enough they'd started tossing their equipment at him after every game, getting off at the sight of him caressing blockers and pads, and himself with them. Eventually, it had grown from a simple goaler gear kink to a point where they would often end up in drunken threesomes after a win at home. But that hadn't lasted very long at all, less than an entire season. The next two seasons hadn't been quite as satisfying, with the goalers alternately playing in different cities... There hadn't been any of _that_ in Calgary, of course, but he'd still managed to convince Miikka to let him borrow his equipment after a game sometimes.

But, here, in Montreal, it looked like Mike was going to have to find a new "hobby" altogether. It was a shame, too, because damn if both goaltenders weren't totally impressive, and as such, terribly attractive. The only problem was that there was no way to get anywhere with either of them. Unless you happened to be named Jaroslav Halak, there wasn't much of a chance you could get Carey Price to do you any favors, and unless you were actually looking for Carey to punch your lights out in a fit of jealous rage, it was in your best interest to keep your eyes, hands, and your kinky ideas, as far away from Jaro as humanly possible.

Mike fully expected this to be the longest, loneliest, _most annoying_ season ever!

He shook his head sharply as if meaning to rid his mind of these thoughts. Looking around the locker room, he realized that he was alone. Everyone else seemed to have left already. Or maybe not everyone, as both of the goalers' equipment was still sitting around their respective stalls, unattended. The guys themselves appeared to be in the shower and if their barely muffled moans were any indication, they'd be there for some time still...

Perhaps Mike's luck had finally turned, after all?

He licked his lips as he eyed Jaro's catch glove and blocker lying on top of his bulky white pads. Jaro had been brilliant tonight again, earning his fourth win in a row at the Bell Center, and as Mike stared at the goaler's equipment, sitting there just barely out of reach, he couldn't help the surge of desire building up deep within him. All he needed was one touch, one small, reverent caress, just enough for him to feel the leather under the tips of his fingers; just enough for him to feel the energy, the brilliance, an echo of what had made Jaro so incredible tonight.

Unable to resist the sharp pull of desire, Mike scooted over toward Jaro's empty stall, then reached a hand toward his trapper. The synthetic leather felt cool under his fingers as he ran them over its surface. Slowly, he traced around the two little beastly eyes sown onto the fabric that made the glove look like a puck-eating monster, which in many ways Mike supposed that it was. Glancing toward the entrance to the showers, making note of the sounds of running water and echoed moans still present in the distance, Mike finally picked up the glove. Slowly, he brought it to his face and breathed in the musky scent of sweat-soaked leather. It was intoxicating, arousing, and he inhaled it deeply, letting it permeate his senses, making his head spin.

He slid his hand gently inside the glove, then, eyes half-lidded, ran it down his cheek and across his mouth. Sticking the tip of his tongue out, he licked along the edge of the glove, taking in the salty taste with delight, a barely restrained moan escaping his lips.

Lost in a thick fog of lust, Mike never heard the footsteps that were coming his way; never saw the man who came walking out of the showers. He wasn't even aware of anyone's presence until he heard a loud gasp, causing him to drop the trapper and open his eyes suddenly. There, before him, stood the goaler whose equipment Mike had been defiling, a look of pure disgust in his green eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Jaro shouted at him, taking two more steps and yanking the glove away from Mike's reach.

"This isn't what it looks like!" Mike protested, jumping right out of his seat, hands held up in surrender.

Jaro stared at him in disbelief. " _Licking my glove?_ What kind of--" He stopped abruptly, unable to find the proper English words to express his thought.

"I swear, it's not what you think!"

Alerted by the commotion, Carey came running out of the showers, barely taking the time to wrap a towel around his hips. "What's going on?" he asked, looking accusingly at Mike.

Jaro turned to face Carey and attempted to explain. "I just caught him licking my glove," he said, disgusted and agitated. "This guy's some kind of sick, perverted-- I don't know, _something_."

"Look, guys, if you'll just let me explain," Mike offered immediately, trying to sound as reasonable as he possibly could, though he now fully expected Carey to give him one hell of a black eye.

Carey, however, did no such thing. "He was what?" he asked Jaro, making no real attempt to hide his amusement.

"It's not funny!" replied Jaro, glowering.

"Yeah, it is," Carey told him in a chuckle. He stepped closer to Jaro, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and whispered things in his ear that Mike couldn't hear from where he stood.

"Oh?" said Jaro, sounding more curious than angry. He looked from Carey to Mike and back again, an eyebrow quirked inquisitively.

"Yeah," Carey replied, nodding. "I'm pretty sure..."

Jaro turned to look at Mike again, all traces of his earlier annoyance gone, replaced by a slowly spreading smile. Mike frowned, though he felt like a heavy weight had suddenly been lifted off his shoulders and he let out the breath he'd been holding.

"So, Mike?" said Carey, a smile spreading across his face as well. "Those rumors about you having a goalie fetish are true, then?"

Mike shrugged. "Yeah."

"Is it just about the gear?" Carey pressed on, "Or is there any chance we might get you to lick off more than our gloves?"

###

It wasn't very long before they had him stripped of his own clothes, dressed in nothing but Carey's bulky shoulder pads, and bent over a low table upon which they'd scattered most of their protective gear.

With every one of Carey's thrusts, fast and deep within him, Mike's dick brushed over the gloves, pads, and jerseys, while he slid his lips and tongue over Jaro's cock...

...and that was when Mike realized that he was _really_ going to love Montreal, after all.

  



End file.
